A Hairy Situation
by Orange Lantern Tsume
Summary: What if Ingrid was bitten by a werewolf one night? Can she manage to keep a low profile, or will her friends turn against her? And what do the Red Robins want with her? R&R! Ch2 UP!
1. The Girl Who Cried Wolf

A Hairy Situation 

By Blackheart Syaoran 

AUTHOR: My first Fillmore fic, so don't go psycho on me, please?  Just get some popcorn and pretend it's good.  

************************************************************************

Chapter 1: The Girl Who Cried Wolf 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 

"Fillmore, Third!" Vallejo barked.  "Folsom wants you two in her office, now!"  

Fillmore glanced at the clock, noting the hour.  It was nearly six, and he and Ingrid were only still at school because, for some reason or another, shifts were being made longer.  Sighing, he exited Safety Patrol HQ, heading with Ingrid down to Folsom's office.  

"Ah, Ingrid, Fillmore, glad you could make it," Folsom greeted.  "I was hoping to get a word with you about the investigation."  

"I guess," Fillmore replied.  

"Good," Folsom said, motioning for them to take seats at her couch.  She herself took her usual place behind her desk.  "Now, Vallejo told me that you two were still working on the whole chocolate milk thing.  Is this correct?"  

"Yeah, it is," Fillmore confirmed.  The matter to which Folsom was referring was when the school's star basketball player had gotten sick during a game.  Early investigation had revealed that the boy had drank some bad chocolate milk, which had been switched with his regular chocolate milk, causing the Safety Patrol to suspect a possible gambling motive.  

"And how many suspects is it that you have?"  

"So far, none."  

"I see.  Fillmore, are you aware that if X doesn't win the next game, it's out of the running for state basketball finals?"  

"Not really, no."  

"Well, you are now.  And let me tell you that I have no intention of letting this school not make it at least as far as they did last year.  Actually, I want them to win, but if you don't find out who's sabotaging the players, the team—and, consequently, the school—is going to lose."  

"We'll find the saboteur," Ingrid said.  "We have a couple of leads."  

"A couple of leads aren't good enough, Ingrid," Folsom replied.  "I want suspects in custody and confessing to ruining this school's chances of getting what it needs."  

And on and on she went, lasting, incredibly, a full two hours.  When Ingrid and Fillmore left her office, they were tired of sitting, and looking forward to the walks home.  

"See you tomorrow, Ingrid," Fillmore said as he waved goodbye, walking in one direction.  

"See you, Fillmore," she said, and began heading for her house.  

Because of the full moon, she could see quite well, and she'd traveled the path enough to know her way around.  In the moonlight, the entire area was serene, looking like some shadowy, exquisite painting.  Ingrid found that she rather enjoyed.  

_Dark and spooky, yet irresistible_, she thought.  _Like me_.  

Abruptly, something rustled in the bushes she had just passed.  Jumping slightly, Ingrid calmed herself.  

_Get a grip, Ingrid_, she told herself.  _It's probably just Fillmore playing a prank_.  Taking a deep breath, she called, "Who's there?"  Immediately after asking her question, she realized that, if someone were indeed playing a prank on her, they wouldn't answer back.  "I've got mace," she warned whoever was behind the bush.  

"Okay, okay!" O'Farrell said, climbing out of his hiding spot.  "Don't hurt me!"  

"O'Farrell, what were you doing in that bush?" Ingrid asked.  

The boy reached into his pocket withdrew a pen.  "You left this back at headquarters, and I thought you'd like it back.  It's not like I was trying to follow you home or something."  

Taking the pen, Ingrid said, "Thanks.  Now could you leave me alone?  The idea of you following me around at night is frankly rather unnerving."  

O'Farrell shrugged and walked off, heading down a street that led him away from Ingrid's path.  Resuming her walk, she found herself at the familiar marker of the playground only a couple of blocks from her home.  The area was completely abandoned, making it seem more desolate than serene.  

_At least there isn't a spooky wind blowing_, Ingrid thought as she traipsed across the playground.  

One of the swings abruptly swayed, just barely, but enough to make Ingrid stop in her tracks.  Looking around suspiciously, she tried to determine if there was a gentle wind, or if someone, perhaps even O'Farrell, was messing with her.  

It took two minutes of scrutinizing her surroundings, but she finally decided to give up.  Turning back towards her home, she stopped again.  

Not five feet in front of her, the small horse on the metal spring was swaying, as though someone had just finished riding it.  

But there was no one around…was there?  

"The hell—?" Ingrid whispered, a second before something slammed into her left side.  

Whatever it was, it took her down linebacker-style.  Ingrid hit the ground, hard, and immediately tried to get up, but whatever had hit her had her pinned, and it seemed to want things to stay that way.  

In the darkness of the jungle gym's shadow, all she could make out was that the thing was large, possibly human-sized, and it seemed to be covered in coarse black hairs.  

_A dog?_ Ingrid wondered.  

The thing snarled and suddenly sank its teeth into her, managing to get both her left shoulder and a good deal of the left side of her chest as well.  She cried out, but because the pain was so great, she couldn't get more than a strangled gasp.  

_Don't let me die!_ she thought.  _It's too soon for me!_  

And then, as unexpectedly as it had happened, the attack was over.  The thing was gone, and Ingrid, feeling very drained in more ways than one, sank lower to the ground, even though she was already on her back.  

As she began to fall unconscious, she vaguely felt two thick and strong poles of some kind slide under her body and lift it up.  

She then blacked out.  

**********************************************************************

Slowly, and with a strong headache, Ingrid woke up.  As her vision cleared, she found that she was in her bedroom, as it was the only one in the house with posters of _The Matrix_'s Merovingian and Agent Smith all over the walls.  

Turning her head, she saw a chair next to her bed, but it was unoccupied.  Was someone watching over me?  She reached for her clock, knocking over an empty glass in the process.  

The door opened, and her father stepped in.  

"Oh, Ingrid, you're up!" he said, sounding relieved.  "I was beginning to worry."  

"What happened?" she asked, surprised that her voice wasn't as weak as she'd thought it would be.  "How did I get here?"  

"Well, when you weren't home after a while, I decided to go see what was keeping you.  I saw some big down doing whatnot to you at the playground, and it ran away when I came at it.  When it was gone, I carried you back home, and Ariel managed to help me with those nasty bites of yours."  

"A dog?  Did you see what kind?"  

"Looked like a big black boar hound to me."  

_So it_ was _a dog_.  "Thanks, Dad.  Where's Ariel?"  

"Oh, she's in the bathroom, feeling sick.  Said she had a stomach virus."  

Ingrid nodded.  "What time is it?"  

"Six in the evening.  You were asleep all day."  

"I was…" Ingrid blinked.  "It's tomorrow?"  

"That's right.  You didn't even react to the doctor when he came in to make sure you didn't get sick or anything from those bites.  You were like a log."  

"Did school call?"  

Her dad waved a hand.  "Just the recorded message saying my child was absent from school today.  None of your friends stopped by, I'm afraid."  

Ingrid took a moment to examine her wrappings.  She seemed to be pretty well bandaged, which fit with how good her sister was at things.  _Hopefully, these won't stop me from being with the Safety Patrol_.  At least the damage would heal up, eventually.  

A whistling noise emanated from downstairs, and Mr. Third said, "There's the tea.  I'd better get back to fixing dinner, or we'll all be going hungry tonight."  

Ingrid nodded, and he left, returning to the kitchen.  As he took the teakettle off the burner, Ariel entered the kitchen.  

"You didn't tell her, did you?"  

"Why would I?  I thought you said you wanted to tell her yourself, if she didn't figure it out on her own."  

Ariel gave a sigh of relief.  "Good.  She doesn't need to know the disturbing little fact that her wounds had stopped bleeding and had already started to heal when you brought her in."  

***********************************************************************

"Third, welcome back," Vallejo greeted.  "You look like crap."  

"Thanks so much, Vallejo," Ingrid replied as she strolled to her desk, still a bit prickly because of the bandages.  She was surprised at how good she felt, not even two days after being attacked, but that didn't bother her much.  "I suppose Folsom was ticked that I couldn't make it to her usual berating yesterday?"  

"And then some.  She said we needed to train our people so that they shouldn't have problems with polar bears."  

Ingrid laughed.  "Good old Folsom.  Always knows when to lay it on."  

"Speaking of laying it on," Fillmore said from his own desk, "we still have to work that sabotaged milk case.  On top of that, we also have career fair duties tomorrow."  

Ingrid sighed.  "Folsom must want us to get back in rhythm."  

"Whoever said I got out?" Fillmore grinned.  

 Grinning herself, Ingrid leaned back into her chair—and began scratching her shoulder.  

Fillmore looked at her curiously.  "Something wrong?"  

"My bandages are itchy," she said.  "They weren't earlier, but now they are.  Ugh, this is annoying."  

"Want me to help?"  There was that grin again.  

Frowning, Ingrid said, "I can do it myself."  Standing up, she headed into the girls' bathroom, which was just down the hall from Safety Patrol HQ.  Once inside, she made sure she was along, and then locked herself into one of the stalls, feeling that she might have to go in a few moments.  

Taking off her dress and being careful so that it didn't fall on the floor, she undid her bandages and held up a small pocket mirror to the wounds.  Gasping at what she saw, she forced herself to stay calm and keep holding the mirror close.  

_What the hell?_ she wondered, staring at the mirror's reflection.  The image showed her wounds, but not only had the wounds healed into scars, but the scars had grown short black hairs.  As Ingrid kept watching the reflection, she could have sworn that more hairs were sprouting up.  Either that, or she was starting to panic.  

Just then, her body informed her that she now had to actually use the toilet, and so she did.  Once finished, she carelessly flushed, not particularly interested in her own urine, and headed back to Safety Patrol HQ.  

She should have stayed, because the urine wasn't yellow.  

*********************************************************************

AUTHOR: Creepy, eh?  I sure hope so.  

I will dedicate the next chapter to whomever tells me what movie I am taking hints from.  I will also give this chance in the next chapter if no one gets it.  

NEXT: As the investigation into the milk case continues, Ingrid begins to feel stranger and stranger, and Fillmore and the other Safety Patrollers begin to grow more curious as to what's making her ill.  Plus, things go very bad at the career fair, when Ingrid finds out she's not so ordinary any more.  

READ N REVIEW!  


	2. The Career Fair Disaster

A Hairy Situation

By Blackheart Syaoran

AUTHOR: Thanks for reviewing and sorry for the wait! 

TO Vicki and Teazer: Glad to hear I didn't disappoint you.  I'll do my best to earn that last fuzzy. 

TO Ekaphant: Sorry to hear you don't like scary movies.  They can be truly great sometimes. 

TO ALL: This chapter is dedicated to Possibledogcat, for correctly guessing the movie that inspired this fic. 

/

/

Chapter 2: The Career Fair Disaster

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

Fillmore frowned as Ingrid approached.  "Couldn't sleep?" he asked her when she had taken her seat at her desk. 

"More like too much sleep." 

"How so?" 

Ingrid sighed, sinking into her chair.  Her eyes had a haunted look to them.  "I kept having what had to be fever dreams last night.  Only problem is, I have no fever." 

"That's weird.  What'd your dad say?" 

"He used a thermometer, but nothing really showed.  I'm still pretty healthy, I just feel  bad." 

"Fillmore, Third, get back to work!" Vallejo said.  "If Folsom catches you two napping, this place becomes X's new tanning salon!" 

Fillmore grinned, shaking his head.  "Guess we've got work to do.  Coming?" 

Ingrid got out of her chair slowly.  "I'm fine.  I just feel a little woozy." 

"Here, let me help you."  Fillmore came up to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist in a snug embrace.  "Better?" 

"Don't push your luck." 

Fillmore was still grinning when they arrived outside the boys' locker room.  The basketball team's star player, Mick Rory, had agreed to questioning before practice. 

"Like I said before, officers, I was in the locker room with the rest of the players when I drank the chocolate milk," Rory said. 

"Where was the milk before you drank it?" Fillmore asked. 

"I keep it in my backpack, like I always do.  Anybody can get to it, I figure." 

"Do you have any enemies that would spoil your milk?" Ingrid asked. 

"Only my cousin, but he's three states away." 

"Any recent arguments with other players, or the coach?  Maybe other teams?" Fillmore asked, receiving no each time.  "Do you owe money to anyone?" 

"I don't even make the stuff." 

Fillmore sighed.  "Thanks for your time.  We'll get back to you if we find anything." 

"Thanks, officers," Rory said as he ducked into the locker room. 

Ingrid glanced at a clock.  "Career fair starts in an hour.  Think we should go get ready?" 

"Why not?  Not like Folsom or Vallejo can complain." 

They started down the hall, and Ingrid rubbed her temple as she went along. 

"You okay?" Fillmore asked, eyeing her. 

Ingrid shook her head.  "I honestly can't tell anymore.  I feel tired, but too energetic to sleep." 

"I know what you mean.  I get that way every time my family makes plans to eat at Papa Crackey's." 

"With all due respect, Fillmore, I seriously doubt this has anything to do with food." 

"Maybe you're a hypochondriac." 

"Highly unlikely.  I don't blow up meaningless things." 

"Schizophrenia?" 

"I don't hear or see things that aren't there."  She sighed.  "Maybe I'm just suffering from allergies or something ordinary like that.  I _am_ only human." 

"Ain't _that_ the truth?" 

/

The X Middle School Career Fair was scheduled for a full two hours of meaningless drivel—according to Ingrid's reasoning, anyway.  With the fair itself being designed like a long stretch of stalls, Fillmore had agreed to take the west end while Ingrid took the east.  As the Gothic girl patrolled the eerily easygoing stalls.  None of the kids around her seemed to be in a mood to cause trouble.  In fact, she was sure that, if it presented itself, she could have smelled trouble coming a mile away. 

This place is almost as creepy as those dreams of mine, Ingrid thought.  She hadn't told Fillmore that the "fever dreams" involved seeing nothing but pure darkness, like some kind of twisted background, while red circular outlines drifted about, dividing in a way that seemed suspiciously like mitosis.  Ingrid wasn't sure, but she had the sneaking feeling that her dreams were trying to pass along a message from her subconscious. 

_What, though?_ Ingrid wondered.  Her walky-talky abruptly beeped, snapping her out of her reverie.  "Yeah?" she asked into the device. 

"Nothing happening here," Fillmore reported.  "What about you?" 

"Please," Ingrid drawled.  "This place is Deadsville.  I'd have more excitement in Tartarus." 

Fillmore laughed.  "Least you still got your sense of humor.  I think I just saw Woodrow Wilson." 

"That's because you did," Ingrid informed him.  "There's an actors' stall on your end." 

"Oh."  There was a pause.  "Hold on, I think someone's about to make a grab—Freeze!  Safety Patrol!  He's headed your way, Ingrid!" 

Scanning the crowd, Ingrid easily located the boy who was rushing towards her end of the fair.  She saw that he hadn't spotted her, and used that to her advantage as she stepped behind a couple trying to win the balloon pop. 

Just as the boy was about to pass her, Ingrid tackled him from the side, and the pair slammed into a jewelry stall.  The force was sufficient enough to both stun the boy and knock some hanging jewelry loose.  As Ingrid stood up, a piece of jewelry dropped onto her head, its silver surface managing to make contact with the skin beneath her head. 

Hissing like a cat, Ingrid slapped at it, feeling a sharp burning sensation on her fingers as they made contact.  As the jewelry fell to the grass, Fillmore reached her, obviously worried. 

"Ingrid, what's wrong?" he asked.  "Did he hurt you?" 

"No," she said, scowling at her hands, feeling repulsed by what she was sure were developing blisters.  "I think I burned my hands on the jewelry, though." 

Cocking an eyebrow, Fillmore examined her hands.  "Metal couldn't be that hot, could it?" 

"Don't ask me, I only got injured by it." 

Fillmore sighed.  "Well, let's clean this up.  Vallejo will be glad to hear we managed to do _something_ right." 

Ingrid rolled her eyes.  She was starting to get rather fed-up with being treated like some valueless digit.  She was making a difference at X! 

At least, she hoped she was. 

/

"Fillmore, Third!" Vallejo barked.  "In my office!" 

"Ingrid isn't here, Vallejo," Fillmore informed his superior as he entered the boy's office.  "Went to the nurse to get some blisters checked out." 

Vallejo waved a hand.  "Fine, fine.  Just take a seat already."  When Fillmore had, he continued, "Like you already know, the next basketball game—the one we _have_ to win—is next Thursday.  That's just over a week away, Fillmore.  You and Ingrid have till then to find out whoever's behind the sabotage and nab them.  Got me?" 

"Chill, Vallejo, we know what we have to do.  It's just that Ingrid's been going through a lot lately." 

"Really?" Vallejo asked, seemingly genuinely surprised by the news.  "I haven't heard.  What's been happening to her?" 

Fillmore shrugged.  "Not really sure.  Think she's sick, though.  Might be allergies." 

Vallejo nodded.  "Right.  Ugh, listen, I've had my say, so if you want to go chat with Ingrid, you're clear." 

"Nice to know.  See ya, V." 

As he left the office, Fillmore thought, _What's wrong with you, Ingrid?_  _I checked the jewelry, and it was barely warm at all.  Could it have cut you instead?  Or is there something else going on here, something a lot deeper?_ 

/ 

/

AUTHOR: Still good, I hope.  I don't want to make the mistake of disappointing my reviewers. 

NEXT: As the basketball match draws closer and the investigation continues, Ingrid finds out a few things about her new self that she'd rather not know…as does Fillmore. 

READ N REVIEW! 


End file.
